


Oh, Silence Mine

by th3rm0pyl43



Series: Secundae [4]
Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Donation, Dreams, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Medical Procedures, Implied/referenced non-consensual body modification, Medical Trauma, Mentor/Protégé, Recovery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/pseuds/th3rm0pyl43
Summary: Love had felled Icarus before clarity came to him and he saw that he was not Icarus, the foolish child.He was Adam.





	1. Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Glory One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667422) by [th3rm0pyl43](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/pseuds/th3rm0pyl43). 

Wisps of gold, rising through smoke, sundered, fractured like the mirror, like his body. Self and sight disconnected, scalpels precise and yet tearing open gaping rifts like fangs, ripping, taking, taking, _ taking_. 

Spitting it out as a twisted effigy that was never meant to simply replace, bearing weapons, blades, manacles.

The mirror, speaking truth he did not want to see. Shattered like all he knew, all he had, all he _ was_; yet it did not hurt to walk on shards, ahead, seeking answers only to unravel the order of the world; cold, _ cold _ocean above, gaping abyss below.

Soldier, servant, slave, savior. From sealing his heart behind locked doors to baring it readily for the world to see; turning his agony inside out until scars became armor, beaten compassion extending the hand of forgiveness to mend bridges that betrayals had once burnt, roads like veins, strength flowing from songs of gratitude. Phoenix drinking deep of the morning sun, ravenous flame gnawing at his wings as he broke his chains and embraced its light without fear, into and through the dark. 

And the sky welcomed him. Old nightmares, once beasts howling for blood, now toothless, cowering pups, vanishing like himself inside clouds. No longer afraid of the sea after he had twice wrested his soul from its cold grasp. Last limits broken, Genesis speaking true, father calling his firstborn’s name across the heavens, _ Adam_. 

First to walk where none had before, above the rain as within; tears falling upon the land of all as it writhed, helpless as its puppeteers’ chokehold smothered mankind’s cry for salvation. False prophets now as then, poison and lies, shunning the light lest they crumble to dust within.

Misery and fear; their darkness withering as he cast away the last of his shackles, fleeing from his no longer troubled heart and seeping into those of the tyrants who dared fancy themselves gods. The same blades that had once violated his sanctity, guided from the shadows, now turned against their masters, chipping, carving away at their control like they once had at his body. Piercing skin and bisecting flesh and cutting arteries, excising wherever their rottenness reached, making them bleed and gods did not bleed and that struck them with sight. Devils made lambs, dragged, thrashing and wailing like beasts, onto the altar of justice by hands made strong through a father’s love. 

The same love that had felled Icarus before clarity came to him and he saw that he was not Icarus, the foolish child.

He was Adam, son of celestial light, born to earthly mothers so he would learn to be worthy of his wings. Battered soul and wounded body, limbs molded from steel like clay, father giving him the gift of life to see him become whole once more. Shards forming into gems, anguish into strength. Sacred like the love that had made him so.

Scourge of tyrants, seeker of truth, killer of gods. First to step beyond and walk the earth. First to touch the sky with his own hand and embrace the moon and stars. 

First to thrive in the sun that burned all else.


	2. Dark

“He’s still critical. We need another unit of blood so he can pull through, but our reserves are depleted and Central has their hands full. I’m afraid this might be it, sir.”

Sarif closed his eyes. Damn it, of course Adam needed it, and of course the hospital could hardly spare anything at the moment, occupied with the horribly wounded survivors. What could he do? _ Was _there anything he could do? Short of volunteering himself… 

He asked the assistant to bring up his own medical file, and the sky-blue of his eyes gleamed as they lit up with hope. _ Yes_. 

Zero, D-negative. 

A match.

“He’s _ not _ dying on my watch,” Sarif said firmly, thrusting out his natural arm. 

* * *

He had become numb to the stench of blood, guts and antiseptics. The nurse worked efficiently and with great skill, and Sarif kept his eyes on the monitors, watching closely as the red warning messages began to disappear steadily. He dared not look at the elephant in the room itself until the chief surgeon breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“He’s beginning to stabilize… just in the nick of time. Guess those stories about Detroit’s best boss are true, Mr. Sarif,” she said, green eyes half-hidden between a mask and bouffant giving Sarif a meaningful look. “That’s one hell of a favor he’s gonna owe you.”

He only nodded absentmindedly, noting the nurse soon removing the needle from his arm and placing a patch over the extraction site. The monitors showed Adam’s vitals steadying and a little bit of color returned to his pale cheeks. He was ready.

Sarif reached over to gently brush his slightly numb fingers against Adam’s hair as the nurse urged him to leave the operating theater again. He sat and watched the rest of the procedure in lightheaded silence from the other side of the window, eyes like a hawk’s as they followed each of the silver and orange packages that he’d collected himself less than an hour ago, hurrying through storage while Adam was rushed to the LIMB clinic.

The surgeon was quick and thorough, the focus in her eyes almost entrancing. She barely flinched when, two minutes after the assistants informing her that anaesthesia had failed, Adam convulsed and _ screamed_. A newborn again, given the gift of life.

Each of his cries, raw, shrill agony, shattered Sarif’s heart into a thousand pieces and crushed them to dust. He forced himself to watch, jaw clenched and tears staining his cheeks with regret, regret that he had ever allowed things to come this far, that he was not just reconstructing what was beyond repair, but taking away what could easily heal again, good as new. 

It would not have been too late to call out and stop the last amputation. But Sarif remained silent, still watching as the saw broke the skin and Adam screamed again. Calling out so heaven might hear him and end the nightmare. 

Sarif finally looked away and grimaced, hand clenching, weak from giving so much blood. He swore to himself, to whatever deity would listen, to keep Adam safe, always, and to never again betray his precious trust like this. Regret set ablaze the dust that was left of his heart, all the hubris he’d mistaken for pride going up in flames like the wings of Icarus. 

Burning it all down like he wanted to right now. The same decisions he would have readily made for any of his valued workers - he would hardly have doubted that he knew what was the right choice to make. Now made for Adam, they pulled his feet out from under him and sent him to his knees, repenting. 

Shards to dust to crystal glass, reforged in infernal shame. Purified, perhaps. Only time would tell.

What Sarif last knew before he collapsed was that for his Adam, there were many more nightmares to come.


	3. Daylight Ours

Cold, icy terror faded soon in the warmth of Adam's presence.

Sarif smiled, opening his eyes. His legs were getting numb from the weight on top of them, but that was all right. He’d chosen to sit here like this after all.

Adam slept peacefully, wrapped in a plush blanket, dressed in loose pants and his favorite ancient, ill-fitting Tigers shirt, head and shoulders resting on Sarif’s lap, arms all over the place, his body and long legs occupying the rest of the couch. His even breath tingled softly on the thumb of the gold and sable hand laid warmly over his heart, its companion running through his unruly hair. Gently, loving, comforting. Still holding on to the memory of guilt as some grim keepsake to remind themselves how far they had come.

Sarif lightly brushed his knuckles against Adam’s cheek, fingertips moving to map his face.

The visor mounts were off, the discoloration of the skin where they had been hardly visible to the naked eye. His beard was a little softer than it used to be, though no less diligently trimmed. Dry lips, but a glass of water would fix that in a moment. The hexagon on his forehead slightly less prominent. Barely a hint of dark circles under his eyes anymore, or the once deep lines that had marked his brow - troubles overcome but not forgotten. Faded crow’s feet resurfaced when he laughed, a sound that Sarif wanted to etch into his memory and treasure until the end of his days. He had worked so hard and given so much to hear it again, to see his son free of shackles and burdens and lies. It was the least he could do to atone - both for him, and his own peace of mind.

Sarif’s smile cracked and he allowed himself to shed the tears he didn’t want anyone but Adam to see.

His son. His strong, beautiful son. His own blood, the child he could never have. Blossoming from a flame of hope for the world into infinite light.

Sarif held him close as he cried quietly, hand returning to rest above Adam’s heart, pressing gently to feel the strength of its beat. Still the same heart that had bravely pulled through that horrible night, touched by the same mercy that Adam had always been happy to extend, yet had never been given himself.

He might have called himself religious once, a long time ago. But when he saw the lengths that Adam would go to if it meant keeping people safe - the good he could do if he just had the right tools - the deep gratitude and hope that shone through his pain, radiant and powerful like the sun - 

\- the sheer difference that half a litre of blood had made seven years ago -

\- he saw that mankind made their own gods. Built their own world and wrote their own words and shaped their own destiny. Could _ be _ their own miracles.

Adam was his miracle. 

Sarif’s grimace shifted into a crooked smile again when viridian eyes slowly fluttered open. 

Blinking a few times, Adam mirrored the smile, softer. He reached up and gently squeezed the hand on his chest, leaned into the one cradling his head, sighing comfortably and simply resting, never missing an opportunity to let both of them bask in the simple fatherly love that Sarif had repressed for so long. 

And they did, Sarif’s tears drying as the hair on his neck no longer stood on end. Overwhelming clarity faded and gave way to tenderness. The silence between them was comfortable; they had spent enough time arguing, leveling accusations, making assumptions, exchanging scathing resentment. Had begun again and left their troubles behind so they could see those of the world.

Adam shifted after a while, making to sit up before remembering why he was lying down. Sarif took the hint and reached down, pushing the blanket aside, leaning over and carefully pulling up the hem of Adam’s shirt, inspecting the dark red spot to the right of his navel covered by medical tape.

“Well, that was quick,” he remarked, satisfied. “That little troublemaker won’t bother you again, and the incision’s almost completely closed already.” He gave the firm muscle of Adam’s abdomen a gentle pat and straightened, holding out a hand. “Patient discharged!”

Adam took the hand for support as he gingerly sat up. “You did fine-tune the new _ Sentinel _ for me after all, remember?” he quipped with a grin, swinging his legs off the edge of the couch, then lifted his shirt and looked at the wound himself, nodding in appreciation. “Always been a little miracle even when it was the older model.”

Sarif’s eyes gleamed, though not with tears. “No. _ You’re _ the miracle.” He laid his hand on his son’s chest and met his gaze, sapphires and opals shining in each other’s reflections.

Adam only smiled before shifting closer and pulling Sarif into a tight hug. Warm hands caressed his back lovingly as he melted into the embrace he’d initiated himself and met the itching, recurring need to simply be held and be _ safe_. A need that had remained painfully unfulfilled for too long before he had allowed himself to acknowledge it, let alone seek relief - like many wounds, whether sore or bleeding, both of his body and soul that had always had to yield priority to something else.

He let go after a long while. “Isaac’s gonna want to know how it went,” he muttered more to himself.

“He came over once, but all I told him was that whether or not it went well, he has nothing to worry about.” Sarif leaned back with a grin, and Adam shook his head.

“Hey, maybe you know my body better than I do, but don’t even think for a second I’d trust you with even a stethoscope around him,” Adam teased. “Except maybe for an appendectomy.”

Sarif only arched an eyebrow in response and eyed the covered incision, then both men chuckled, knowing the banter would continue some other time.

“I love you, Adam,” Sarif said, every time he spoke that truth out loud feeling like the first. He reached out to cup Adam’s cheek and kiss his forehead, his heart warmed by the soft sigh of comfort from his son, swelling with pride over the fact that he even legally had the right to call him so. Not that he cared much anymore for what was on paper, but the moment Adam had set down that last signature was a blessing even as a memory.

“I love you too, David.” A gentle squeeze to Sarif’s shoulder was enough, Adam’s gestures always speaking volumes. His hand brushed against Sarif’s as he stood up and offered him a parting smile brighter than a cloudless sky.


End file.
